


Kill All Your Friends (I Will Die in This Place)

by rage_for_love



Category: Bandom, Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe, Mindless Self Indulgence, My Chemical Romance, The Used
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Heathers, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Always-a-girl!Gerard, Body Image, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Frank's a homicidal maniac, Gee's a girl, Gen, Lindsey is uncharacteristically mean, Lots of character death, M/M, Mostly based on the musical, You Have Been Warned, and bert and quinn are insufferable jocks, like seriously, that last one only applies to gerard tho, that's kind of the whole concept
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-27 07:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12076773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rage_for_love/pseuds/rage_for_love
Summary: Gee and Mikey Way have always been outcasts. With their prodigal grades and status as the chubby girl and her weird kid brother, they don't expect anything to change.Oh, how wrong they are. At the beginning of her senior year, Gee attracts the attention of the three most vicious girls at Belleville High. Lindsey, Kitty, and Chantal offer her everything she could ever want, under one condition, -- she has to leave Mikey in the dust.Throw in a party faux pas, a new guy with a lip ring and a gun, and some vicious rumors, and you have a recipe for the deadliest senior year in Jersey history.





	1. Cast

 

 **Veronica Sawyer -** Gina "Gee" Way

 **Jason "J.D." Deane -** Frank Iero

 **Martha Dunnstock -** Mikey Way

 **Heather Chandler-** Lindsey Ballato

 **Heather Duke -** Chantal Claret

 **Heather McNamara -** Kitty Dunn

 **Kurt Kelly -** Quinn Allman

 **Ram Sweeney -** Bert McCracken

 **Miss Fleming -** Ray Toro

**Various Teachers-**

Billie Joe Armstrong

Mike Dirnt

Tre Cool

 


	2. when you're beautiful (it's a beautiful freakin' day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is; the messy Bandom Heathers AU we've all been waiting for. Hope you enjoy! Kudos and comments are encouraged.
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of weight and body image

 

 

 

_September 1, 1994_

  
_Dear diary,_  
_I consider myself to be a good person. Don't get me wrong, there's good in all of us; as much of a pessimist as I may be, I believe in good people. It's just that not many of us show it._

  
_Back when we were kids, things were different. Everything was so simple. We were all so cute; we ate snacks and took naps and regularly pissed the bed. (Okay, I don't miss that part.) I do miss when we all liked each other, though; everyone was friends with everyone. We were all fat, so I wasn't any different. I could love my brother then, too, 'cause everyone loved their brothers. Hell, everyone loved MY brother, too._

  
_Now, things are different. We're all stuck in this purgatory called high school, and you have to pay in some form or another to get anyone to like you. If that isn't bad enough, some people just don't meet the criteria to be friend-worthy, no matter how much they let you use them._

  
_People like Mikey and me. Oh yeah, we're those kids, the freaks at the bottom of the food chain. Considering how much we're trampled by the Belleville High stampede, it's a wonder either of us are still alive._

 

_Mikey and I have all of the qualifications for prime freakdom. We're both smart, flinching if we receive so much as a B+. As kids, we were told that was something to be proud of. The older we got, though, the more our GPAs seemed to betray us, getting us more flack at school than praise at the dinner table. Today, I cringe looking at my name on honor roll. We're dorks, basically._

 

_To make matters worse, we can't make up for our dorkiness with conventionally attractive looks. My brother is a stick, lanky and paper thin. If Allman and McCracken ever end up tying him to the flagpole like they've been threatening to do all these years, he'll probably fly away. I pray that he never gets in a fight._

  
_On the other hand, I'm his polar opposite. Since I failed to shed my baby chub along with the other girls back in the fifth grade, it's been standard knowledge that I, Gina Way, am a fatass. In fact, that was the year my real name was retired: from that day on, I was known as 'chubs,' 'fatty,' and, most creatively, 'Miss Two-by-Four.'_  
_After all these years, it doesn't even hurt my feelings anymore. Now, it's just tiring._

  
_I mean, I get it. I'm smart, I'm fat, and, unless I'm doing your Calc homework, you hate my guts. You're a shitty human being! Cool!_

  
_I just wish I wasn't constantly reminded of it, you know? It's a bit hard to get over it when you're hated not just by one person, but the whole freaking school._

  
_Oh yeah, that's another thing about this hellish place. Literally no one has their own opinion. So if say, the cheer captain hates me for being smart and fat, so does the rest of the cheerleading squad, as well as the football team, and then everyone else. I'm pretty sure I'd even be rejected by the self-proclaimed weirdos by now._  
_High school sucks. What sucks even more is not fitting in with anybody._

  
_Of course, there are loopholes, but they're not easy. There's about a one in a million chance that I'd ever get that lucky._

  
_Those loopholes come in the shape of Belleville High's three goddesses._

  
_he Frankenstein Girls (named for a remarkably skanky group costume they once wore to a Halloween party,) might as well be the actual school mascots. Though they're the closest thing we have to any sort of benevolent deities in Belleville's fiery pits, they're still absolute bitch queens._

  
_And yet, for some reason, I just can't bring myself to hate them._

  
_Don't get me wrong, I haven't fallen victim to worshipping them like everyone else does. Still, I can't deny the fact that they're rather awe-inspiring._

  
_The trio, in order from least to most bitchy:_

  
_Jennifer Dunn: The cheerleading squad's most prized pom-pom shaker. Known as Kitty ever since Steve Montano wove a tale involving her wearing cat ears (and not much more,) she's untouchable, taking absolutely everything in stride. She could be sweet, if she weren't always so ready to do the others' bidding._

  
_Chantal Claret: Somewhere between an airhead and a sad puppy. She edits the yearbook. She really doesn't have much to show except for some great hair  and implants, though what she has in boob, she lacks in personality. The only thing we really know about her is that she thinks she's better than us. Considering the circle she runs in, we all believe her._

  
_And, last but certainly not least:_

  
_Lindsey Ballato: If Kitty and Chantal are bitch queens, she's the grand-bitchin'-empress. Her mom's income is too large a number to read without falling asleep first. She's flawless, a real life Snow White. But, as much as everyone likes to look, no one is allowed to touch. Hidden in her perfect hourglass figure is a ticking time bomb. With Senior Year moving fast, it's only a matter of time before she finally goes off._

  
_So yeah. They're horrible, and, considering how snotty they are, I really should hate them. Somehow, though, it's just not that easy._

  
_As much as I hate to admit it, I think it's because they're just that beautiful. Shallow, I know. Still, I think there's a reason for it._

  
_After all these years of being Miss Two-by-Four, I'm still hoping for a change. Maybe that'll come in the few pounds I dropped over summer break, or my grand escape to art school after the year is over. Or maybe, I can finally get through that loophole._

  
_As horrible as they are, the Frankenstein Girls are beautiful. And, maybe, if my ship finally comes in, they can make me beautiful, too._

 

* * *

* * *

 

 Just as I return the diary to my backpack, a toilet flushes in the stall behind me. I take this as my cue to stand up, brush myself off,  and pretend to be busy washing my hands. Sure, writing a passionate, long-winded diary entry while sitting on the bathroom floor doesn't really help with my freak status, but I can't really think of a better place to do it. I learned my lesson about the stairwell the third time someone tripped over me, and working through my personal ills when I'm supposed to be taken notes hasn't done me any favors in the past. Thus, the girl's room has become a place of solace for me.

  
Too bad there's always someone else occupying it. Oftentimes, said occupants use their break to gossip after finishing up their business. Like now.

  
"They're totally doing it behind everyone's back." A stall door creaks open, the spectator of someone else's 'doing it' making her way over to the sinks. I look down at the sink, working the soap on my hands into a rich lather.

  
"Why do you say?" Another stall opens, bringing along another prized contributor to the rumor mill. Great.

  
"Are you kidding?" the first girl gasps, nearly breaking the soap dispenser as she forcefully pumps out a gratuitous amount of pink foam. "Did you see the way they were looking at each other in English?"

  
"Um, no," the second girl scoffs. "I don't stare at people like you do. I'm not a perv."

  
The first girl brushes off the perv comment without faltering. Impressive.

  
"Well, he was totally watching her. It was like, totally creepy. But, when he got up, she was staring at him too, so I guess the feeling's mutual. Or he made her uncomfortable, and she wanted to get a good look at him in case he cornered her later or something."

  
"Interesting," the other girl says, though her tone betrays her statement. The sinks shut off, but neither of them move. I pick dirt from beneath my nails, trying my best not to make accidental eye contact with anyone. As dramatic as it may sound, so much as casting a bit of accidental sideye is a risk for me. One false move, and I'll be wearing a 'kick me' sign on my back for the rest of the year.

  
The first girl groans. "God, what is taking her so long?"

  
"Don't know," the other girl replies. "Do you think I should check on her?"

  
"No, I've got it." I hear the sound of shoes scuffling across the floor, followed by a few raps against one of the stall's doors. "Come on, Chantie! We don't have all day!" 

 

Someone makes a low groaning noise. "Mmm...  I'm coming, I'm coming." The toilet flushes once more before the third stall opens.

  
"Thank God," the second girl says. "I was starting to think you'd died in there."

  
"Not quite," the third replies. "Though I feel like I may be close. I'm puking like I'm paid to. God, this hangover is wicked."

  
Without thinking, I open my mouth. "I can write you an excuse, if you want."

  
The room freezes, and I feel the silence like a punch in the gut. Of course I would ruin my vow of getting noticed as little as possible now.

  
Finally, Girl One speaks up. "And who, exactly, are you?"

  
I have no choice but to turn off the sink, pull down my sleeves, and look up.

  
Of course, just when I think things can't get any worse, I end up meeting the coal-lined eyes of the Bitch Empress herself. That's right. Lindsey Ballato is currently staring me down, Kitty and Chantal standing behind her. I should have known.

  
  I gulp, bracing myself for the storm as I wait for one fo them to recognize my face. I am so dead.

  
By some miracle, recognizition never dawns. Still, that doesn't mean that Lindsey gets any nicer.  "What, are you deaf or something? I asked you a question."

  
Finally, my brain seems to turn back on. Thank God. "I'm... Gina."

  
Chantal makes an unflattering snorting noise. "That doesn't explain anything."

I take it back; I might prefer any one of the malicious nicknames I've acquired to this. I might be the next one to vomit. "What do you want to know?"  
Lindsey guffaws and takes the reigns again. "You think random dorks offer to write us excuses all the time?"

"N-no," I stammer. "It's just that I can, ah, forge handwriting. Like, really well."

  
Chantal sniffs loudly. "Sounds fake."

  
"It's not, I swear!" I haven't noticed until now that I'm backing closer and closer to the door. Fight or flight mode may be the only reasonable response to this situation. "I swear, I can do it."

  
Before I know it, Chantal's reaching into her backpack. She rummages around a bit, finally coming up with a Post-It note. Great. A lunch note from the woman herself: Chantal's mother. She reaches into another pocket, withdrawing a pen. "Prove it."

  
My hands shake as I take the yellow note and pen. I smooth out the creases in the paper as I bare down on the counter, closely inspecting Mrs. Claret's loopy scrawl as I attempt to make the perfect copy. If a Frankenstein Girl tells you to jump, you ask her how high. No matter how independent you claim to be, you better try to please them.

  
I bite my lip as I pass the note back over to her. "There."

  
As they do with everything, Lindsey, Chantal, and Kitty examine the note in a group, the three of them huddling, heads pressed together, to see that there isn't a single line out of place. Watch them long enough, and you realize that their thinking faces are identical.

  
It seems like an eternity passes before they come to a verdict. They're silent, their faces unreadable.

  
When they come to some sort of telepathic agreement, Kitty is the first to speak. She sighs, muttering a small 'damn.'

  
Lindsey hands the note back to Chantal. "Pretty good, I'd say."

  
The bell rings in the distance, and I prepare to scurry off.

  
But first, my mouth decides to betray me. "Wait."

  
Six snobbish, squinting eyes fall on me at once. Oh yeah, I totally could hurl, right here, right now.

  
"Yes?" Lindsey asks.

  
I swallow the lump in my throat, allowing the words to begin gushing out like water from the faucet Chantal was now rinsing her hands under. "If I, ah, write you an excuse, can you, like, let me sit at your table, or something? Just once. I swear, if you don't like me, you can kick me out whenever you please, but a guy tripped over me this morning, and not being invisible anymore would be really, really nice. And there will be more notes where that came from. Ummm, excuses, report cards, checks, if I'm feeling crazy..."

  
Chantal raises two overly-plucked eyebrows. "Prescriptions?"

  
Kitty elbows her in the side. "Chantie!"

  
Lindsey sighs. "Fine. But there are conditions."

  
Oh my God. Did I actually get away with that.

  
At this point, I'm nodding so furiously, I may break my neck. "Oh, sure anything. Anything you want."  
Lindsey smirks. As if anything she wants is a concept foreign to her. "Anything I want, huh? I like the way that sounds."

* * *


	3. looks so horrible (feels so right)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Guns, body image
> 
> Comments and kudos are encouraged!

 

 

 

I can't believe things have been going my way for this long.

  
I've maintained my seat at the lunch table with the Frankenstein Girls for over a week without incident. As ridiculous it sounds, it almost seems like they actually like me. I mean, in the most superficial way possible. One of Lindsey's ground rules was that I had to be a bit more 'tasteful' with my eye makeup, which ended with her doing it for me. Chantal made a point of telling me that she had a bunch of Slimfast shakes at home, should I ever want to 'try them out.'

  
"Yeah, because we all know that you haven't been drinking them," Lindsey said, not batting an eyelash as she stabbed a bit of lettuce in her salad. Chantal blushed bright red, leaving Kitty to change the subject, as she always did.

  
I smiled and nodded away. Like I said, the offhand comments hardly bother me anymore. After hearing them for so many years, they sort of start to roll off your back.  
Quite frankly, having the bitch queens tolerate me has made life a cinch. Not once since I got Chantal out of gym have I been stepped on. In fact, I've actually been noticed by quite a few people who hadn't bothered with me in the past. Surprisingly, having Bert McCracken ogle you doesn't feel as icky as one would imagine.

 

The only problem is that befriending Lindsey Ballato is a bit like making a deal with the devil. There were times that her bitchiness bordered on demonic. It was during these times that she made damn sure that she got her way, no matter how daunting or vile the task was. And, as the official dictator of our little group, she expected absolutely no resistance from her loyal subjects.

  
She's in one of those moods today, jaw set, eyes flashing as she strutted down the hallway, fellow students clearing her path without having to be asked. As always, Kitty and Chantal follow in a straight line, the three of them as in sync with each other as ever. I, however, haven't quite gotten their runway walk down, not having enough poise or confidence to hold my chin up high and swing my hips. This probably doesn't help my stance amongst their rankings. Though I haven't been stampeded over since my impromptu initiation, I'm still not on the same plane of godliness as the original three. Though I'm being whispered about in the hallway for the first time, quite a few of those whispers are a mix of amusement  and disbelief, both royalty and underdogs asking "who does she think she is?"

  
One of these people, unfortunately, was my own dear brother. Though I hadn't really thought about it when I shoved my way into the in-crowd, my sudden shift in status had hit Mikey like a slap in the face. I mostly answered the kicked puppy eyes he gave me in the corridors with a smile and a wink, a silent 'don't worry, we'll talk when we get home.' It was all a game, and I knew that, so he would, too. Right?

 

The look he's currently giving me from across the cafeteria has me feeling a bit unsure of that. I have to admit, the sight of him eating his lunch in complete solitude does make me feel a bit guilty. Okay, really guilty. But it isn't completely my fault. I would wave him over to sit with us, --- if I didn't think it would result in me being beheaded before the period is over.

  
Considering how much I value my head, he'll just have to look sad for a while. I'll be gone next year, anyway; the preparation is useful. Besides, he isn't the only one eating by themselves; the new kid with the spiky hair seems to be enjoying it.

  
Yeah, he totally looks like the outcast type. Maybe he'll invite Mikey over to sit with him. Like attracts like, after all.

  
"Earth to Gina."

  
I avert my eyes from the newcomer, meeting the gaze of the demon queen instead. Her red-painted lips curl into an amused sneer, wide brown eyes darting from the new guy to me. "Jesus, drool much?"

  
"I wasn't-"

  
"Whatever." She dismisses the subject with a wave of her hand. For that, I'm thankful. "Do you still do that handwriting thing?"

  
As if I would suddenly lose my ability to do so in a week. I bite back any sarcasm. "Um, yeah. Why?"

  
She nods toward Kitty, who slips a hand into her jean pocket. A moment later, she sits a piece of folded notebook paper on the tabletop. Lindsey takes it, her grin growing as she waves the paper in front of me.

  
"Here, I have a note from Bert McCracken himself, " she says, lowering her voice. "Take a look, if you will."

  
I oblige, taking the note. Messily slanted scrawl spells out a comment about Kitty's backside that I'd rather forget. Trying to mask my disgust, I fold it back up. "And?"

  
"We were wondering if you might be able to forge a note from Bert," Lindsey says, motioning toward the football team's table. There, Bert is laughing, donning his letterman jacket as always. It's still a mystery to me how such a scrawny guy could successfully play football.

  
"From your loser brother," Chantal says, all too loudly.

  
"Chantie!" Lindsey snaps. With that, Chantal retreats back into her shell.

  
Pleased, Lindsey looks back at me. "Bert's having a party this weekend while his parents are out of town," she says. "And, since it's all too obvious that knee boy has some weird homoerotic feelings for him, -- I mean, Bert, -- might want to invite him to join in on the fun."

I swallow the lump developing in my throat. If my sitting with the Frankenstein Girls was heartbreaking enough for Mikey, contributing to his public humiliation would be utter betrayal. As nice as being recognized as something other than the fat girl was, I couldn't do that. Could I?  
Lindsey doesn't appreciate my hesitation. "Look, if you're still worried about right and wrong and shit, you can go back to your brother dearest. We don't care. But, if you pick him over us, don't expect to get special treatment anymore. Your sibling bond or whatever means nothing to us." She slides a blank piece of paper to me, followed buy a pencil. "Take it or leave it, Two-by-Four."

  
With that, I take the pencil. Biting my lip to the point of drawing blood, I begin to write.

  
_Michael,_

  
_I've noticed you've looked a bit down lately. I know we don't know each other that well, but I think it would really give you a chance to spread your wings, so to speak, if you could come to my house party this weekend, -- no adults involved whatsoever. Perhaps you'd like to stop by?_  
_\- Bert_

  
I'm just about to fold the note back up when the sudden sound of Kitty shrieking rings out. "Holy shit!"

  
I look up to see that half of the cafeteria is now transfixed on the table the new kid is occupying. Only now, he's not so alone anymore. Bert and Quinn are standing in front of him, Quinn looking uncharacteristically timid, arms crossed in front of himself as an apparent defense mechanism. It's only when I stand up that I see why. The new kid's standing up now, and, despite how small he is, he holds every reason to be scared of him in his hands in the form of cool silver steel. Sweet Jesus, he's got a gun.

Bert, being the total brainiac that he is, stands up to him when his partner in crime doesn't. "You got a problem with him, jackass?" he booms.

  
The new kid grins. "Well, yeah. Taking lunch money from a freshman is pretty low."

  
Damn, that's what this was about? That was pretty extreme, but also... kinda hot.

  
Bert, however, isn't impressed. "You talk real big, but can you fight, you little prick?"

  
No-Name laughs. "You'd think the gun would make it obvious, wouldn't you? God, you're an idiot."  
Before Bert can offer another retort, the new guy's fist is flying, ending up knocking Bert square in the jaw. Bert gasps, stumbling backwards. Quinn catches him.  
Wow. I think I'm in love.

  
The two football players stare straight ahead, dumbfounded. The new guy smiles, tucking the gun away into an unseen bag. "Better be glad it was just a punch and not a pistol whip," he says. "Now that would have been a real tragedy."

  
Afraid to say anything, Bert and Quinn remain motionless. It's the longest I've seen them go without opening their mouths in a while.

  
Not as impressed as I am, Lindsey nudges me. "Now would be a good time to take it over there, before Bert has the chance to stop you."

  
On shaky legs, I stand up and saunter over to Mikey's table. I don't look at him as I drop it onto the table. "Bert asked me to give this to you."

  
Before he can respond, I'm turning back around again.

  
Then it happens. The tingling feeling you get when you know someone's looking at you crawls up my spine.

  
The new kid smirks at me from his secluded spot in the corner, something catching the light as he smirks. Is that a lip ring?

  
Oh yeah, I'm in trouble.


End file.
